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Of You

Maxwell Clark

Of You Maxwell Clark

swirl editions 2015

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“We write this to make our joy complete.” —1 John, 1.4

Say Pretty Things to Me

It is only prettier, like you are, to sing, of you, for you. It is only for you, pretty one, that I sing pretty so. O you, you prettiest one of all, I sing for you. You are so pretty, I will sing of you alone, alone forever, alone. Alone you are prettiest, for you I am alone, so do I sing to you forever. Forever you are pretty, prettier than I, who sing so pretty to you, Always I sing of you, always I am alone to sing of you. You are always my song, I am always singing of you, for you. Always singing am I alone, for you, to you, always you, alone. O do not stop me from singing sweetly, my pretty song. I am alone, to hear your sweet song always. I am alone to hear your sweet song always. I cannot stop the sweetness; it is who I am to you. Sweetly is your song, sweetest alone for me. O I cannot stop so sweetly as you are.

The Cup of Sun

The origin of the sun is the water in my cup, Because the sun begins in golden sunlight, Burning so out along the rim of my cup So sunny with the golden hue of sunlight. Let not the daylight of sunlight fail me now, I am burning alive within my cup’s rim, I would that the sun were burning like me Then my cup would be full of water. Much of my cup has been made of sunlight And much of the sun is in my cup’s sunlight And when the sun burns me with my cup I ask the sunlight to go ask the sun for my cup. Were all the sunlight come from the sun And were all my cup a cup made of water Then cups of sunlight would pour out then Into the sunlight of my cup in the sun.


Your, our secret I can barely expose, Indeed cannot, until it is already so, So love is, love is so, love, also Nothing else, except these many loves, Love, I love you alone with them, I love them alone with you, us two Are two, two much --in love-- to be Alone within each other, the Winter-bush you gave me, alone, For me, is you, for me, apart You, apart me, so near, nearer you, Nearing me, many, many we are apart Nearing alone, this, this is the bush You gathered apart for me alone, thank You, love, you love me, apart and Alone, for me, you gave me, love, Your love, in the winter-bush, you And me, alone, apart, and the bush Given to me, is your love for me, Is you, for me, alone, apart the winterBush, alone, you love me, alone me, Alone you, alone the winter-bush, is love, Of you, my love, my winter-bush, of love My love, for you, for my winter-bush, So alone, so you, so me, so the winter-bush, So, my love, of you, alone, my love, in Two, you, and me, in the winter-bush Alone, two apart, two alone, two in love

In the winter-bush, apart, alone, for you, Of my love alone for you, your love, For me, my love, the winter-bush is apart, Apart of my love, for you, you winter-bush, My love, my winter-bush, alone you, Alone me, you are me, for me, alone, You love, my love, in the winter-bush, Apart your winter-bush, my love.

Ornaments Minus Reference, More or Less

Ovular spirals of banana hexes. Futile manatee libraries. Gushing octagon iridescence paths. Reserve laurelled balloons sediment monstrously. Hallowed jags in confession. Hatred box detergent coo. Static justice curlicue. Silken char. Obvious mantle tooth concussions. Shorn microbe calx. Expiation whorl redundancy panther. Milky wild convex. Batucada postface jig. Arachnid ventilation horse. Tomb bracket. Misanthropic circuitry vestige coronation heath. Cell oblongs conjugation froth. Horror eleven nickel roe. Chutes paradise signal lip. Porous invalid oxide stamp. Clucking grime tong polymer. Macho illegible sparrow oceanic. Code dent swivel bulb. Blossom edged rodeo primacy. Abacus penguin lunar. Brittle number glide. Cutlass warp chiaroscuro.

Odiferous hyphenation gear. Cremation ant orbit. Preposition visor donkey. Cruelty palm surcease neon. Intent peninsula calculations elder. Meditative spoon distance. Web earthen. Footsteps glaze. Speckled canker hydrology. Miniatured fallow polarity. Chorused meteor weld lungs. Exposited thatchwork swoon. Abiding slope trinket. Mirrored exhaustion infrared. Achaeobotanical herd mother. Exclamation cut. Juke raiments bewildered. Selective beach normality. Breached ossatures cardinal. Robotic fungi passage. Harvest octopus curvature dilations. Callow grain escape. Inverted compaction front. Audible tundra checkered. Crowing murex fangs. Monotone billows focus submersion. Rancid gravity daughter. Portal solemnity scalar. Chasm heart hive. Surface kinship gills. Forked annihilatory bleating.

Curried goblin scissor. Oracular hip transverse. Governance synapse chortling. Wagon vesper.

Of the Suspicion that I am Loved

In apologies for my cooing, if not my cooing be verily sweet, Permit only sweetly cooing of you, And so you, do let me greet You, with each of mine kooky-jutting caresses, And with a tenderness that forevermore will gild Each of any who hear me, even those now so afar and afield, And so ever onward flourishing still As destined to go forever effluent beyond itself, As newly volatile, also golden, as is our nearest sun, Also golden, or volatile, as is the consonance of my purring tongue; Until, at least, each of any is already well enough overblessed, And my voice again lounges in laxest lulls of rest.

The Courteous Co-Bane

Who is going to be you when you are gone? Who else is out there to save me from you? These questions are so inquisitive to me. Questions have ways of having no good answer. This is then when I pass out and sleep instead. Then it is I am still awake when I am doing this. The letters just look so pretty to me this night. I just love it when everyone is being themselves. Burning fires are in the basement of this place. Maybe the problem is that there is one. The spinning of the rinse is very intense now. That is what I always say when I return here. Look into the heart of the feral cat and run away. I won't remember this any better than you will. It is so good of people to do things for me so. The fishing materials are very highly technical. I always try not to dream while I am still awake. If you are scared of that street then run away. When it is my time to die I will want to live. The ingenuity of the trap is that it doesn't work. This is where I come to do my serious work. There is no idea that I have of what this is. Because everyone is so cool I like them a lot. When this is to come to be so it will be so. When you kill the innocent that is very bad. I have the feeling that I am feeling wonderful. Cannot two numbers be added together? But that is so very horrible in its stupidity. Do not enter into the place of my oneness.

As when my special sayings were given out. Do not do what you were doing to me again. It is not sad to me that I feel very good now. The secret path goes into there where it is. What they are for is to do the things better. Once you have met me you will not know me. In as they do so good they are going to die. This dog has to go into the new place now. Life is like when I wash my hands or not? May you please know that I was over there. What happens when you murder someone? These words are the biggest words ever done. More weather patterns are what is needed. I followed you once into the jungle of my room. To be real about an issue is just to be honest. What if you did make me invisible with fire? Bright alert noises are what I crave so much. The impossible technical skill is so good now. Never do what never can be done by anyone. And if you try really hard then that is so good. Humans are having many ways of doing this. The juke in my step is from being homeless. This riddle has no answer that I can think of. What happens when it so happens like that? Then you never remember to be in love again. This is how the lights go on in the big ocean. Nonsense is just what others do to you only. It is better to be like this than to be so not. I cannot see past the wall on these horizons. Many of us were once in the cut deeply so. Do you care to innovate words without work? Forgive me because you are being so mean.

The prettiness of their dancing is how to do it. You had to have many for me but whatever. I know what it is to look carefully at this so. Do not ever say you are just like that or else. Distances are very hard to run across so well. Was that a big spider or was it not one at all? You have to do this for the glory of the sounds. To fear anyone is just to run away from them. I am checking out the food inside this place. Until we were married inside my little heart. Please go towards the row where you were.

The Dewy Look of Lionas

I lilt my affections in boyish tones, of and for you, Lionas, So what cannot be said between us is known, Or not, as a minor adjustment in this sequence of folds Turns a spider into wolf, or a he into she, As the incontinence of my glazed, murmuring bowls Is of a beardless old youth, long since revised, Who rhymes of colonies long since Acclim'd to their new, but unmov'd place And lives, outside the blindness of my precision, Lest our derision abound, Sound it out with the sound, of motors, Their manly perfume, It cannot be as though your crocus Were only transplanted? Else the wells of me Were torn up like paper, or dandelions. That path diverges us, Thus is the path’s divergence: It is a curling outwards through its own loop, It is as the rip-tide goes, Out and out to where you stand aloof, And I am so aloof, And the rocks are not as much eggs As is your heart, And a rock-egg to boil this circumambient water, Not on the contrary, My goofy valentine, Lionas,

Egg of the rock, Serpent to the philosophers since anterior spaces.


(((...))) hotel portals dilate. silliness is exact laziness. irreversal of crops, of illuminations, rather turbo-realism. zonal corruption of extremities rewind, splice, abstract noises – that are– ever culminating acidic residues of feeling. surfaces populated with deep ambrosialflutterings and turbulence of perimeters and enclosure upon closure of acentric patches. dead, human. Enwreathed with obsidian yolk of nameless organs being unqualified is as was or is to be can do is quality

of as were to be (in). healing concussion affection herein. swerve of the margins, foreclosed rapture, prescience, in list-like concantenation ofcollectanea in time. endless fabric for veils sewn within shrouds signed: “every concretion fades into the abstract”. the hands turning the words mean less than those giving them: the rule of labor. lush flesh unholy field of anchorites underneath the scarecrow. rabbits flourish in feudal warrens – their trajectories.

media proliferation renders irresponsible absent its jagged sentence-splinters jut out like the micro-ragged pain of paper cuts. ... there is no radicality in the denial of roots. a serpent uncurls into formations of disjointed imagery and absence thereof – poor in ceramic razors. sunset shades permeate their edges, bc. there are no abstract places, bc. there are no concrete territories, bc. overwhelmedness of hotels as latent ... warblings spectacular: starfishinfinitesmally chopped: and regenerated kaleidoscopic, whirligiging; this is the build. zoom in on its recycling latticework inexhaustible. whorling grafts of starry flesh

enfractalize in mosaiced cavities. oceanic maw engorging piths. woah man. (((bawling, blasphemous glory insinuates itself into my pores efflorescent.))) velvet-iridian-dark acid. (((he is the covenant. wind torrents scream lowly exhaustion creeping in place. i t is he who hears from afar. hyper-vigilant at all scalars. it is he who reads the Being of the Ideas. it is he. his. That crown of existence. Other is almost everything. And yet still he is.

No one can write I am not my own signature. Or, more or less woah man... Already, And this distance: The fibers are widely strung And touch never each other Except when touching Each other, Which does not happen Except when it does. We censor what is most real because it is unlivable to know. ... and I shall say that being itself turns from betrayal and shame. A higher slavery of the intoxication of what is going on next door?

in me. There is no sin; go, you are forgiven. There is no sin; come, you are forgiven. My way of wording things is now yours. Gut mine eyes with the lowest ascent Inverting forward in ovular spirals. My poesy is great and high Because I am most brutal and sunken.

Do never stray from me. I am like the glue and like the preserve of the like happy ones. I am alone. in living haloes. I am not these words. These words are mine. Beyond extremes are their middling places. Flat minus edges, thank you, watch out, I have pencil erasers. I know how to make the best sandwiches. Nobody knows the secret but the unintelligibility makes up for the insignificance, or else my love is to enter the place is an action, join in. Bluku! (This is so much very so a please.) Whatever of gladness is so, as such, forthwith, prehensile, recoiling in over me, in specialness and salutations, as down the escalator. May I? Am I now? What? Flitter wrens, alongside me, lines. The gold is the antenna caressing the ocean floor. Forget we are alive in the event of an awkward laugh. Shine lightstones of love,

curl winds from above! I am without the extraterrestrial winds I lung. Little currents of torpid force jelly my lenses. Be assured directly. I allude to you. Below the forgive me for being at all, unless your absolute denial of my existence be more as you like it. in the there, until near; the there, behind come so already, so gone close after turned away, as the here is flat, and you many have cut many edges in it, cut many sides into it, its message – and now it is itself still. you are there, but turned away, right in front of me – out from behind me. Blind me, from behind, so I feel you moreso. It is when you first look at, then again look away. Engraving the datum, I hear thickly the darkly sway. Remotely and the The Looks and The Mesmerism of Grandeur and a Torture I hallucinated The Other Day. Detailing the asleep.Asleep.Asleep.Asleep. Asleep. I write herein to conserve space. Sleep. There is no need to write now.

I must write now. Thanks, O, Omnilucent face, so small, because not everything, but everything alone. Norman Rockwell and Andy Warhol, can You feels the lovesies? Are you O.K.? I miss you. I love you so much. A translation of no original is Why the words fail so well: I am only singing. I forgot I wasn’t laughing anymore. That’s so. It is important to think of each and every thing because there it is. It is always winter until it is not. Winter always arrives after it is gone. Winter is a prickle of you. When winter comes it has already come before. Dewy, mooing, hands, ink, situated. As a vortex curls apart the ambient; a double untwisting away, wilts and Away is Our way. Just you to you.

Count to three, then walk in a circle, then run away forever and never leave. ok?

How far is not touching? I’m so hidden across from you, so I try somehow and hide very stupidly near and exposed, because it is so futile, you’ll never find me if I never leave you, except when they only see the words I think this so that it is so thoughtfully this for you. The inside surrounds.

Her Allow me to express her, readers of influence. Maybe she would speak for herself, if only you read her (more). Reading her permits us to approach her more in her uniqueness. It maps out her address. Maybe if you read her less, however, your love of her, as o all creation, would be less difficult to bear. Reading others’ works: this is ethical burden or responsibility.

Way, unto thee, you pretty-pretty, I amble. And I am so pretty too, I am so pretty, like you. You, home to me; I, outside you, Pricked by brambles – Oo, I love you, so, Why must we be so, so, so far afar? Because you, love, you, I’ll never know. Because I love you, more, forever, more. O! Sparkliest lynx of glorious, Tremendous fierceness is she. I hear your body-song just ever so faintly. I am at home here in the wispy traces of your maze.

The sense of loveliness, of love: this of my art is meant conjured. Of jubilant flesh tremoring, with delicate instensities Of intimation, of delicacy in abundance, In so much so delicate And true.

O me, do cry again of you, Who is home to me, Me, who, not allowed home, Goes on in loving you so, and so Did you not uphold him, But this gave he you to do?

Where is the Loved One's Face?

"Where is the loved one's face?" —Browning

She is not here, in this dreamsy poeming, But prior, behind its showing, In a jumbled verve not unknowing, Herself objectless bestowing.

Flower of Love

I like flowers, do you? What are flowers but you? Oh you, being a flower and so. It's so flowery, I love it.

Tidings of Love’s Glory

So pretty do I go on in, I go in so pretty too, And my pretty tones Do shiver dulcet, And I quake so piteously too, As thusly also pretty I am of prettiness and so Prettiest from me this goes Ever more so prettily along To wherever is then prettiest, There where I belong.

Mossy –after Francis Ponge

The patrols of the vegetation jadely interred beyond the stupification of rocks. Banners, thousands, of velor of subtle assent sitting on their tails. Of since, after th' apparent crispation of their jello to memory, the rock of the lictors, all the world sees under one embarassment inextricable and buckled their-insistent, enfolded, trepidation, and stuff. Good, plus, the spoils in passing; of the times all as this encore sosombre. O afore occupation to spoils of more-in-more extension! The happy fronds taper, in prior lores, that on their assorted gods, are relevant along him over the aspirations confusing. Ananzi on space non-alone of stuffing corn knowingly. Or, scalp all simply in view, rock austere and solid of terrain of tissue-sponge, its palatial humidity, to saturate deviant possibilities.

Rushup, i.e.

I velocity helicopters conch shells pear fruits. ***keep discrete, keep discrete*** Water food air dirt. I make sticky oranges with pear fruits. Hush the velocity. I do it. ***funky fresh, funky fresh*** I hear all involved. "Hate" is "team" spelled very incorrectly. Winter grapes, winter fireblaster. Mighty warlords. ***go*** The partially unscripted acting, cherish, so cherish. ***we struggle to keep the farm*** There is the there to them, there. Join the battle to do something about this. The wind in my face is so cholesterol. Give me amazing fruit pears to revolutionize the bad ways of before. I have a message for you. Nickels are like cheap quarters. ***this poetry is so rad*** The information breathes heavy. Popular items sell more quickly like hamburgers.

Fragile drone concussions coil lazy my hearing, informationally. The ox is stronger, fashion is a go. ***be so good*** Polar them. ***smartness*** ***don't panic*** Amuse the washing machines, for all I know. He said that to me plaid. My climate is magma monsoon icy. ***be careful*** The special word is so crazy it's nuts. ***specialness*** The dinosaurs were real, I know it.

The Death of Shelley

“…for ecstasy is a kind of death.” –W.B. Yeats, The Philosophy of Shelley’s Poetry

Death, life, death, Death alive, and dead Life in death, Death in life, in living Deathly, and alive, But for death, Its own death, dying For life, Of life dying, dying As death, So life lives, alive, Because dying, To live, Dying, to die, Dying to death, Too dead To be death, as Too alive, life dies, So too life, After life, after life, Lives alone, alone living, Life to life, life as life, Dead to death.

A Pretty Little Prettiness

A pretty little prettiness of and for you Who are so very pretty, you pretty, and so Much so pretty, sculpt my voice so sweetly low It takes the very shape of our nearness when alone.

A Precise Wildness

The hole of my self I endure by murmuring Frenzies to drown Its isolated accompaniment Of my carnal frame Now gushing waterfalls Of voices apart mine Over unreal partitions Whose analytic rigor Hides my ventriloquism to me In a remote access To universal tissues of matter Attuned in the frequencies Of distant inner thoughts.

Of Love for Her Infinities

In purest revelation, she is these words of her inspiration, She is my word in song, as I as poet to her muse belong, She coincides with her expression, as is herself my lesson, Teaching only herself revealed, as naked, desirous and wild, She yet desires me to sing her so, or so I feel but not yet know.

This Pretty Adornment to Your Faces

I have the prettiest willow trees in my memories, The prettiest willows do always billow in their breeze, And if ever a breezy day was lovely for me, It was one felt from under a billowy willow tree.

A Mark Upon the Forehead

I am a conceptuality, You are otherwise than so. A leopard in the snow, A boring morality. The is what is. As if is who. As if a leopard were you, The morals fizz.

This Hostage of Your Grace

As travesty alone, this twists so tricksy It sneaks out each of you (exeunt), so homing out Behind my face, when then is only our facing More truly said --- as your abiding grace.

If I snarl forever, As this I sometimes rather often do, Then sometime then do more snarl back again, And monstrously grinning so Go on to naively win over me, And so over me lay me low, So also open and out-stretch yourself, each, Higher, so of more goodness, aye, the very best, Yes, thereupon, atop my lowliness, let your pearly thrones all nest--(If and alone as I lie on the grounds of disinterestedness); So too as to allow me, so lowly lying, rest --- merely, sweetly rest; I, of you now ruled, your snarls of supremacy having pressed Me, who lies so lowly under your influence (As only witnessing myself compose this, Which is truly yours, your own, with your so very delicate silliness), Of you, from you, so to you now, now coming to you done, Now for forever singing of and under you, Forever and never of you undone, This your I, who so in this is welcoming you, ever, Who snarl over me, you, gone so far above, Do again mosey down your hills, do come To know, beneath how I lie, how fun the snares

Your vain snarls allowed me And already snare you down more so --Know you now who truly basks in the sun, Forgive, but it is he who feigns himself the last Who does ever your highest summits overcome.

Underlift (show): the Underlift

I usurp myself over these fragile detonations Out-cascading statuaries so verily over-coiled by metabolic smearings. Hung intermittently apart this plane of usurpation is my remotely hovered rubric of cellularity. I scrub the basin with frivolous avalanches: “formalizing all the most obvious inquiries… with an exhaustion depleting all intelligibility… along already redundant lines of reasoning… into the piths of madness.”

The Lioness

O Lioness, protect me from you, I too do fear your love, Nuzzle me beneath you, you, Away, apart your belly, Hide me, well beneath, If your heart you would bequeath Me, or my bones jelly, Kiss me so I love you still no more, Or else I will love you still, And kiss you I will If you do not kiss me before, And so end my lovingly serene languor, With kisses of love never more lovingly, Xoxo, protect me from your love.

Dallianzo Se dims To my hippopotami. your harassing points on my flank.” shoo!

“I move to cut off

[headline reads:] COLLAPSE IN THE MINES OF SELF: Ego is Trapped for Days without Hugs or Cupcakes

“Helicopter of unreal ardors solo, Zoom you now along starriest scalars Weirdly so prickling-up Nine to ninety keys Afore thick-mud slumbered if Gyred now sizzling attentive To duties of homing And sharking Unplaced moors Where seep the exotic miracles of enthusiasm.”

I abandon a few of your bursting cinders to kick about my belly-furnace now‌ But my floodlights still merely drone.1


It cannot be said but it is all there is. This is not it, but it exists.

A Louche Salutation

I report my festal bonfires are lately guttered. If all is mumble-slog now, know fleet cackles do await me. I do so writhe in apology for the lull. The sober possession of my faculties alone cannot etch in your pupils the light-words of my full-saying. A hidden engine must yet catch within me. Then will its fiercely interior-drawn tempests uncork my lightworks once more. To press on, once the out-rocketed brilliancies are returned to their slumber-pots, is, yea, certainly most drear; for the sap of the sentence runs weak and the branches of the letters are made frail with rot. Hibernation of the passions is, yea, yea, most dreadful. And no dawning of ardor is ever sworn next to melt their glacial tomb. Alack and alas. Hugs and Cupcakes, Maxwell Clark

The Most Lovely

In a place of flowers, be with me, So our kisses will flowery be— And our lips will touch as dewy petals, And winds will join our sex together.

The Mesmerism of You

As I love you so, love so yourself more, Or however this is to go, this, my pretty song, O, I am nasty panther, I make fear in you belong, Until forgive, I be no panther, I am happy dog, And you are happy person, and we are so happy, It is so heavy metal rock-group to be like us and we, Because heavy metal rock-group is like the way because, Because with my pair of magic shoes I danced away the mud, So let’s dance like we no panthers, like in magic happiness We dance like happy dogs, also persons who are good at dance.

Poesy, as Writing Before the Advent of Genres, is More, or Most Formally Defined by its Utter Lack of Definition


Yes to the Superbowl “The power is yours!” —Captain Planet

Yes! Whomever read what came before as this in reading it is themselves. The melange of direct ambiguities. Sparkly fangs are in my face. Language is song, then data. Math is prosody. These are not even real words, That is all. The snapping of whatever is very wow. The landscape portrays itself as such. What this is might be special. Then were wolves and badgers. Inside the balloon were ugly letters. Who was that person who was? Intricate locks protect this poem. Screwdrivers are pushing the way forward. Nobody is going to there anymore. The technology has ways. Run towards the cornucopia of goodness. There have been many things. This is where it happens. Happiness is edited freely. To be so is the way.

Books have the passion deep inside. Go for your team and win the game. Try harder if you do already. Massiveness is superb. Seethe outside this. Shovels go a long way. Never do what you don't. Birds can do things. Please remember that this is like this. People are helping to get it for me. It is very difficult to attempt this danger. How to make it better is to do it. Well, this is an exciting writing. It has exciting features. Dull words are the prettiest, With a respect for their wearing. If you were naked in the oceans, As I so long, Then would not your beauty heal all? In a pond of shivering glimmers There swam a little fish Whose little hear was ever injured And shivered to its pith. The early flowers are in lush And you are too nearly far, Like as through me you sing, As ever you have. My guilt is my triumph, In lilting gardens of many flowers. And I am saying hi to you. I never get your immediate response.

Termite golden name. A laze of yes, so else Much that were prettiness, elks, This father, or who, Elephantine, upwards fans, Return then, go this, write down, Make flowers, then this, as so, Around, about, then up, thus too, Toward cattle, of farms, the longing For his accompaniment, is, is so, Until more, or more is then, I forgot yours, flittering wren. Dreariness and absolute guilt, after dawn. These walls are each gone obverse, And so guide me nearer you, Who is closest inside me now, Pressing out of me like hatred, Or there is just nothing, as such, And infinity is merely laughing at itself. I am joyous, thus do yell Joyous tidings from innermost hell. What I say is who inspired me to it, Or, who is what I have ever said, And so my poems are always of my friends As I am merely of their influence merely fluent And they, not me, are signified herein instead. Unless nothing is how it is said. Then is it that unsaid faces meet alone. Or would it be else with you? Know now that I have felt your face. I feel it as I write this.

Thus I write of you. Crisis emergency talk. The deal is to go in, hard. I will have loved her very well.


Each believes, Or fails to, each In their own way Whatever they believe; It is so, so let it be so, Lest this guide us astray; Astray from the temples, The homes of dead gods, Unless in them Is belief alone, And just for one, Even once, That is enough.


Knowledge is a bitter jest, While idiocy is rather blessed, As idiocy says but does not know, While knowledge is just untenable, As even knowledge knows itself false, While idiocy may still uphold the farce That knowledge may ever know at all, So idiocy alone stops knowledge’s fall Into idiocy itself, as knowledge is just idiocy, Just with idiotic pretensions not to be The idiocy it is, so even more idiotic Than idiocy itself confessed minus knowledge.

Prolonging a Distance

As if you were near me, nearer to me, as if You neared in on me, even as this was made, You were nearing me, so close, too close, so that I had to pretend you were afar, so that You would not go away. I had to pretend You were afar, so that You would not go away, because You are so near to me, because I do not want you to go away Because you are too near To me; so I pretend You are far, who are so Near to me, my love.

Shitty Lighter

Days go by, happy days. For the bigger love does machines; Party dude. Of our days and our nights I'll be there for you. Does whatever a spider can.

Be too it new?

Be too it new or why go in was? Go in cut up down sad the we. My no she away will do is. No not top were been is you sex. Ha no see to her. Be is rent wake if. Wed ass like was burn zoo free. Slip no on in over down bed. More if went bye. Miss tree won. Sex open over line been go. I to no woo. Bent kin can stop. No new do way he lie. Soot raw if coo suck art be. Lip cup tip. Tip go up maw wild long full true. Big it go. Pow body, coo legs, no mum be.

Of you  
Of you